The speakers were bashing out Memphis blues. The waiter was wearing a luxurious beard, a trucker cap and bib and braces — the very picture of a modern lumbersexual. The menu included a dish called “dirty fries”. And there was a snack called “crispy piggy bits”.

At a table next to us, a foursome — also with lavish facial hair and inked extremities — was playing Scattergories and snacking on hush puppies.

Tick. Tick. Tick. And tick. Was this restaurant the very apotheosis of hip Hipsterdom? What totes amazeballs hipster hell had we inadvertently stumbled on? And what was the next track on the speakers going to be? The Lemonheads?

With all that going on, it’s no surprise that Yes Please Perth is a high-water mark for culinary dude culture. Which sounds hideous, right? Well, not so fast. The food here is superb. Sure, it’s dude-y and born of the culinary splinter group, The People’s Front of Bomb Diggity Mod-Oz Bubba Food, but it’s brilliantly executed.

Hush puppies, $12. It’s fair to say that most Aussie wannabe-bubba chefs who attempt to cook these things get it wrong — doughy or greasy or flavourless or all three. YP Perth’s were light, with big corn flavour, grainy and textural, but soft and with a good crust from the deep-fryer. In a world awash with sriracha mayonnaises, we were dismayed to find it as the accompaniment.

But somehow, they made even this bog-standard dressing good, and better and livelier than most. And as if that wasn’t enough, there were a couple of spoons of a tomato, red onion and lime juice salsa wading in the deep end of the smayo pool — a perfectly astringent counterpoint to the more fatty components on the plate.

This dish, in less skilled hands than those of chef Scott Roberts, could have been as rough as a stucco bathtub but, somehow, it had finesse and enormous appeal. We hoovered it, even while the little voice inside was saying “Stop with the fried potatoes, you greedy fool”.

Charcoal-seared flank steak, $28, was a bargain. The kitchen uses Black Onyx meat (the premium sub-brand of Rangers Valley Beef), which is streets ahead of any other flank or skirt steak we’ve eaten. It was nicely charred, sliced against the grain, perfectly red inside and as soft as gelato on a hot day.

It was dressed with a luscious, shiny brown stock-based beef gravy sweetened with redcurrant jelly. The beef was perched on a big swoosh of ajo blanco, which is usually an ice-cold almond and bread soup, but this was a thicker, more sauce-like version and fit for purpose. This is seriously good food.

Camera IconThe barramundi was best in breed.Picture: Iain Gillespie

Barramundi, $32. We usually avoid this overrated fish but it’s a good test of a chef and the condition of the produce. This version was best in breed. The skin had a rendered crackling so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it. Inside, the meat was moist and, tellingly, it wasn’t mushy or falling apart on the fork. It was served with smoked potatoes — and yes, they were bushfire smoky — pea puree, baby carrots with some char on them and the finest chiffonade of deep-fried leek.

The only disappointment was a so-called gribiche sauce served as a dipper for fries, $10. It should be chunky with chopped gherkins, julienned cooked egg white — the yolks are used, cooked, to emulsify this unusual sauce — and then loaded with capers, parsley, chervil and, sometimes, tarragon. We were excited at the mere idea of serving it with chips. What we got was a highly emulsified, bland, alabaster-white “mayonnaise” of sorts. Hashtag sad face.

Camera IconThe pork belly.Picture: Iain Gillespie

The mixed drinks are lethal. We had to put an old fashioned aside while the ice melted. It began like Jet A-1 and ended well, once diluted.

Callum Hewson, one of four owners, was waiting tables on the day of this review. Behind the Paul Bunyan beard lurked an enthusiastic professional, who clearly gets that most elusive of things: customer experience. Great service. Thanks.

We’re big fans of Yes Please Perth. Underscoring its dude-food affectations is a great offer. While the food reads and looks like hipster tuckshop food, its underlying techniques and skills are as much about Escoffier as dude culture. Roberts’ classical training is clear in mostly everything he does.